


It's Lonely Where You Are (Come Back Down; I Won't Tell Them Your Name)

by sweeterthankarma



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Stop Hurting Wynonna Earp, post 3x02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 17:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16163222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: Anonymous requested, "what if Wynonna told people to stop calling her Earp because it reminded her of Dolls and it hurts too much? Nicole is the only one who has called her Earp since."





	It's Lonely Where You Are (Come Back Down; I Won't Tell Them Your Name)

**Author's Note:**

> Well...I said I wasn't going to write any more post 3x02 Wyndolls because I didn't want to consider it canon- and I still don't- but a lovely anon sent me this heartbreaking ask and I had to do something with it. I'm forever going to be bitter over how poorly the plot and characters of this show have been treated, but thank god for the healing powers of fanfiction. Also, I strangely enjoy writing painful fics like this, it's challenging and heartbreaking but a refreshing change.
> 
> Title comes from the gorgeous song "Name" by The Goo Goo Dolls. Definitely recommend listening to it while reading this.

It’s her own name. It’s always been her name. It shouldn’t hurt this much. 

But it does.

It’s what she’s known by, it’s what defines her; if humans could be landmarks, she’d be the most visited one in all of Purgatory. It’s a curse, it’s a rumor, it’s a truth and it’s a tragedy.

_ Earp. _

Every time she thinks she’s taken all she can handle, been pushed by the last blow and decided it’s enough, something more comes. 

_ Of course it does, she’s an Earp after all. _

And she can’t give up, especially not now, but god almighty, she wants to. 

She can’t do this without him. Without Deputy Marshall Xavier Pamela Dolls, or whatever his middle name is. (She doesn’t think she’ll ever find out if he even has one. She doesn’t think she even wants to, not anymore.)

She wakes in the night and thinks he’s beside her. 

Wynonna had done that before he’d...left , too. (She can’t say the “d” word,  _ won’t _ say the “d” word.) She had remembered all too well what it had felt like to sleep next to him, to let him touch her, to want him to touch her, to not be afraid to want him to. She’d let him kiss her and let his hands roam and she hadn’t shifted away, she hadn’t even flinched.

The man who used to be unable to admit that he even gave a shit whether she lived or died was laying close beside her body— her  _ pregnant  _ body— and he had loved her, at least on that day. She had felt it, and she hadn’t done enough. She should have turned around and told him that she loved him back, that she was his, that she was always his, for as long as she’d known him but she was just too scared and too busy and too broken and too bruised. But with him, she almost forgot everything she had been trying so hard to run away from. 

_ Almost. _

Because once again, her curse takes another toll on her. 

_ On him. _

She used to close her eyes and see his face, vibrant in her dreams, and she would wake herself up only to consider calling him, to urge him to come over and sleep beside her rather than in his own bed. She’d surely wake him up, it was four in the morning and cold and dark out and she’s sure he was sleeping, anyways, so she decided against it. She fell back asleep with the idea that tomorrow, she’d ask him to stay the night, unknowing that he was awake the whole time thinking of doing the same. 

She wasn’t afraid. Not in the dark quiet of the homestead, where she let herself forget the countless tragedies that shook the walls around her. She could imagine the relief of feeling him beside her and she knows he’ll say yes. 

But she never found the time, never even had a second to catch her breath because tomorrow was always filled with demons and curses and whiskey and vampires now, apparently, and Dolls doesn’t know she’s been putting off these plans and questions because they’ve barely had time to discuss things, and then he _ left. _

It’s a twisted joke. 

She can’t compare any of her tragedies. The list is a mile long, and they all carve different holes in her souls. But this...this is different, because she’d never loved someone that wasn’t kin, never allowed herself to, and now she knows why.

Xavier had loved her. She knew that. She  _ knows  _ that. And she’d loved him too, just as fiercely, just as subtle as he had her, and if she had known what was to come, maybe she would have made it more obvious.

There’s no rewinding the past. No second chances, no saving him. No more hearing her name leave his mouth, usually  _ “Earp,”  _ sometimes  _ “Wynonna,” _ and every now and then, when he thought she couldn’t hear him,  _ “babe.” _

_     “Earp”  _ is the sound she hears in her dreams— correction: her nightmares. It’s his voice, always his voice, but it’s twisted and distorted and it’s not his because it’s not him. He’s gone.

Wynonna will wake up in a cold sweat, dry heaving, and Waverly will come to check on her. She clearly hasn’t been sleeping herself, Wynonna can tell because her eye makeup is still on, although fading, and she should feel sorry, she should encourage her to take care of herself and get some sleep and not worry about her, but she forgets how to be gentle. The world has not been gentle with her. 

She’ll shove her away. She’ll want to apologize but she can never find her voice, not when she really needs it, so she’ll let herself cry as she hears her stressed murmurs through the paper thin walls. Nicole will try to console Waverly, as she always does, but the the frames of the bed creaking are a clear sign that Waverly isn’t really listening. She just wants sleep.

Wynonna sees the way she drags her feet, the frequency with which she yawns despite how much coffee she drinks. She hopes sleep welcomes both her and Nicole, even if only for a few hours. The sun will be up soon and they’ll rise somehow, lonely and cold and tired and almost not even there. They will try again, even if they don’t want to. 

Wynonna tries to be nice to Nicole. She likes her, but every word out of her mouth lately is bitter— and Wynonna knows she’s survived a cult and is only just remembering it and they’re all just a tribe of walking basket cases at this point, even Jeremy— but something is off. It takes a while for her to realize it even though it’s something she’s known for a while, hidden deep under the surface of her subconscious, making her weary, but then Nicole says it. 

Her name.

_ Earp. _

The people around her stare, murmuring as if she’s some urban legend when she’s really just a rural gunslinger everyone knows far too well and hates far too much. She’s used to the eyes on her, and that isn’t what bothers her, even as she kicks a rock on her way back to her truck and slams the door hard once she’s inside. She’s only thinking about him. 

He’d sat in her passenger seat so many times. She runs a hand along the worn fabric of the seat like it means something, and even as she knows it doesn’t she remembers the way she’d felt with him by her side, along for whatever ride they’d go on, good or bad.

She had a feeling that if the curse was ever broken, if she could ever be so fucking lucky, that he’d stick around.

She remembers his words clearly, echoing in her mind as if he’d just said them, and she grips the steering wheel, suddenly dizzy. 

_     “If you think you’re going anywhere, you’re in for a whole lot of hurt.” _

Of course he would stick around.

And he’s doing exactly that. He’s sticking around. His body is cold, six feet under Earp land, now and forever, and it’s pointless because his body isn’t even his anymore; it’s turned to ash under rock and dirt and snow because he’s dead. 

He’s  _ dead. _

Every day Wynonna thinks she’s grieved as much as she can, and then she remembers even more.

_ “I need you,”  _ is what he’d said that night at Bobo’s gala, and it’s what she says as she drops her head against the glass of the window, fingers balling her shirt into a fist around her neck. She needs him.

But he’s not coming back. 

She drives home anyways. She parks the car and nods to Nicole, who’s standing tired and slumped on the porch near an equally tired Waverly.

    “Earp,” Nicole says by way of greeting, and Wynonna shakes her head.

    “Wynonna,” she murmurs, so softly she can barely hear herself. “Can you just call me Wynonna? From now on? Please?”

Nicole’s eyebrows furrow but she doesn’t question her. Wynonna doubts she understands the full weight behind her words, but she knows she can imagine; Haught has always been considerate, always been more intuitive than anyone else she’s ever known. She nods and Waverly’s eyes barely lift from the empty coffee mug in her hands.

    “Of course,” Nicole replies, and it’s done. It’s all that needs to be said. 

Wynonna cuts through the house to head to Dolls’ grave. She doesn’t want Nicole or Waverly to see that’s where she’s going, even if she’s sure they know. She’s been there everyday since they She doesn’t say anything to him. If he’s a ghost, she has a feeling he’s haunting her.

She chokes out a laugh between her sobs. She doesn’t deserve him, not even in his afterlife. 

She doesn’t know if she believes in spirits. She thinks maybe she’s better off if she doesn’t. 

Still, she hopes maybe if spirits are a real thing that exists, he’ll find a way back into the homestead, to lay beside her at night or watch over her or remind that she can do this, she’s the only one who can do this.

That night, she sees flickers of moonlight through the window panes and pretends it’s him. Atoms of light, made of the universe and stardust and peace, not pain, and if that even exists, she hopes it’s what he is. 

As for what she is?

An Earp.

Through and through, cursed, stuck with no choice but to keep living and keep being. 

It’s weeks before Nicole slips up and refers to her by her last name, and she immediately rushes to apologize. Wynonna just gives her a rueful look before reholstering Peacemaker.

    “It’s my name, Nicole. No sense in fighting it. Now come on, let’s go shoot another demon.”

_ Let’s do it for him,  _ Wynonna thinks, but doesn’t say aloud. She keeps her thoughts to him buried deep in her own mind because it’s all she has left between them, and she’s hoping that maybe it’s enough. Maybe it’s at least something.

She keeps pretending the moonlight is him, too. She sleeps better that way.

**Author's Note:**

> To every devoted Wyndolls shipper still out there, I will forever be sailing on this ship. Come talk to me in the comments or on my Tumblr @sweeterthankarma.


End file.
